


Summer's Day (The Grass Mix)

by V (deepsix)



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-07-07
Updated: 2003-07-07
Packaged: 2017-10-04 19:26:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepsix/pseuds/V
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A remix of Kay Taylor's "Summer's Day", which is no longer available online.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Summer's Day (The Grass Mix)

**Author's Note:**

> A remix of Kay Taylor's "Summer's Day", which is no longer available online.

"She didn't need to kick us out of the house."

It was the first thing Charlie had said since they left, having being shuffled out the door by their over-zealous mother. She'd only been too happy to see them gone, and Bill supposed he couldn't really blame her: they were loud enough as it was on the best of days, but there was no accounting for the amount of noise and dirt they could produce on days like this. The sun had been scorching leading up to noon, and Bill could tell it was only going to get worse; he could feel the humidity coming on, making his shirt stick to his back.

They'd been walking nearly half an hour before Charlie even uttered a word. Bill had stuck him with the dubious honour of getting to carry the picnic basket, for being smart enough to leave his shirt at home—or rather, for their mother shuffling them off quickly enough that Charlie didn't get a chance to pick it up again from where it lay, in a grass-stained heap in the backyard.

"Probably not," Bill agreed, after a time. They were so far out in the fields that he couldn't even see the village anymore. "But at least it gave us an excuse to get away from Percy and his bloody temper tantrums."

"That's true," said Charlie, and abruptly sat down. Bill laughed, and thought about criticizing his walking stamina, or lack thereof, but instead settled on throwing himself down on the grass next to Charlie.

"So anyway," he said, plucking up a long stem of grass. He put it in his mouth and lay back, watching as Charlie stretched out alongside him. "So anyway," he said again, "I never did finish telling you about that girl in my Potions class, did I."

Charlie looked at him for a moment before he said, "No."

"She's nice," Bill said. Charlie made a noncommittal sort of sound. "We went out on the last Hogsmeade weekend. It was nice."

"Nice," Charlie repeated. He was picking at tufts of grass, propped up on his elbows, and rather pointedly not looking at Bill. Bill threw a mangled clump of grass roots at him.

"Different, too. About everything. The way she kissed, and—she let me, you know. _Touch_ her." Charlie stayed very quiet. Bill said, "When we got back it was still early, right, so we were—we went to the prefects' lounge, and there was no one there, and we were kissing, so she let me—"

"Okay," said Charlie, and sat up straight, "I get the picture."

Bill grinned. "But the way she kissed, Charlie. It was just."

"Just?"

"It was different," Bill said simply. Charlie looked genuinely interested at this, because, Bill knew, he fancied himself rather a good kisser. And Bill had heard things, too, of course; everyone who's gotten a go with the Quidditch captain would like everyone else, and their owl, to know about it. But as far as Bill knew, no one had gotten particularly far. Just the kissing.

There was a long pause, and then Charlie asked, "Different how?"

"Oh, just—." Bill stopped, because it wasn't the sort of thing you could explain. It wasn't, at least, the sort of thing _he_ could explain: you couldn't really do that kind of _different_ justice with only words.

But Charlie's face was turned expectantly towards his, and there was still grass clinging to his hair from when Bill had stuffed handfuls of it down his shirt only a few hours ago, and so Bill said, "Oh — I suppose different _like this_," pushed Charlie back, and climbed over him to straddle his thighs. Bill could see the surprise registering in Charlie's face, but that expectancy still hadn't left.

Bill kissed him, then, his lips pressing delicately against Charlie's. Charlie seemed to be waiting for something more—he was frozen beneath Bill, and Bill was almost afraid, because what the _hell_ was he thinking?—but Charlie opened his mouth against Bill's, and Bill licked carefully into his mouth. Charlie let out a small kind of noise, and Bill deepened the kiss, kissing him long and slow and carefully. He tasted like grass, Bill thought, slick and sweet but bitter.

He pulled away suddenly, and Charlie looked up expressionlessly. His hand had come to rest on the curve of Bill's back, and Bill could feel the heat of Charlie's palm pressing through the fabric of his shirt. His heart was beating rapidly in his ears, because Charlie wasn't saying anything, but just looking at him, not like this was the most natural thing in the world, but like it was _nothing_—but it wasn't. At least, not to Bill.

"That was—" Charlie started, in the ensuing silence, but Bill cut him off, and kissed him again, hard, his tongue sliding roughly against Charlie's teeth. Bill thought he heard Charlie gasp, and felt him tighten his grip on Bill's back, but Bill wasn't sure, because what if he was just playing along?

He let his hands trail across Charlie's waist, lingering over the curve of his ribs, and suddenly Charlie was pressing against him, hands fisting in Bill's shirt, mouth fitting damply against Bill's. Charlie's hips were moving insistently against his, and Bill could feel the curve of Charlie's erection against him.

Bill didn't even allow himself the liberty of thought, because Charlie was letting his fingers spider up the inside of Bill's thigh, sending shivers up Bill's spine. Bill felt himself arch into Charlie, bringing his cock against Charlie's, and he wasn't sure but he might have heard Charlie whimper.

Bill turned his mouth away from Charlie's, and he could feel Charlie's uneven breath fluttering against his cheek. His own breath was loud in his ears, quick and shallow, and he shouldn't have been as scared as he was, he didn't think. But Charlie's hand was sliding inside his shorts, skating dangerously close to Bill's erection, and Bill bit his lip, closing his eyes.

"Charlie," he said, but his voice was tight and breathy and he couldn't possibly tell Charlie to stop.

"I want to," said Charlie, barely even audible, and the mere sound of it made Bill shiver. Charlie pressed his mouth wetly against the curve of Bill's jaw, and he abruptly rolled them over, pinning Bill beneath him. Bill breathed in sharply, but all he could smell was Charlie and grass, and grass and Charlie, and they were quickly becoming one and the same. Charlie's thumb was rubbing at the skin at the juncture of his thigh, and Bill felt himself deliriously hard, but—

"Are you sure?" he asked, because he had to, because Charlie was still younger than him and maybe he was only—

"Yes," Charlie gasped, and then his palm was sliding against Bill's cock, warm and almost confident, and Bill had to stop himself from pressing any harder against him.

Charlie was pushing his hips hard against Bill's, and from the heat-friction between them Bill could think of nothing but how much he _wanted_ this, though Charlie was his brother and he wasn't supposed to, but he did, he _did_.

"Bill," Charlie whispered, but nothing more. His palm was rough on Bill's cock, but so exactly right, and Bill couldn't even form the words before he came, shuddering, in Charlie's hand. Charlie was still moving against him, and Bill brought his arms up around his waist, clinging to Charlie's back as Charlie ground his erection harderlongerslower against the curve of Bill's hip.

Bill could feel him coming with a long expulsion of breath. Charlie stayed quiet for a long moment, not moving, and Bill felt his uncertainty coming back, because what if Charlie said something _now_? But all Charlie did was disentangle himself from Bill, and whisper, "Different?"

It took Bill a long moment to remember what he was asking about, but finally he said, "Different. But in a different way."

"Oh," said Charlie, and abruptly rolled onto his stomach, away from Bill. Bill looked at him, at the grass stain on his shoulder blade, and the blades of grass still caught in his hair, but Charlie didn't look back.

"That was better," Bill said.

"Oh," Charlie repeated. He still didn't look up.

"I meant with you," Bill said, as if it wasn't incredibly obvious. He mentally kicked himself a good number of times in rapid succession, because of _course_ Charlie would think it was a bad idea.

Charlie said nothing for a long time, and it wasn't as if Bill was counting or anything, but it seemed just as long as he hadn't spoken after they'd gotten shooed out of the house. Bill thought: _but then why would he do it if he thought it was a bad idea?_

"Do you think," Charlie started. He stopped, and started ripping up handfuls of grass again.

"Yes," Bill said, when it seemed like Charlie wasn't going to go on.

"Oh," Charlie said. The grass continued to come up, but he didn't say anything else.

"Finish a _sentence_," Bill said, and sat up, frustrated. He wasn't angry with Charlie, though it certainly sounded like it, but he was angry with _someone_, and it looked a lot like himself.

Charlie looked at him over his shoulder, but there was no expression in it. "Do you think that was a bad idea?" he asked at last.

Bill stared at the tenseness of Charlie's shoulders, and the violence with which he was ripping out the grass, and the long line of his spine, and Bill said, "Of course I don't think it was a bad idea!"

And before Charlie could say "oh" again, because Bill knew he wanted to, he hauled Charlie up to sit alongside him, and kissed Charlie very softly at the corner of his mouth. Charlie grinned at him suddenly.

"I hoped not," he said, and while Bill was breathing his sigh of relief, Charlie returned the favour and shoved a handful of his grass-pile down the back of Bill's shirt.

Bill grinned back, and said, "I don't think Mum'll want us home just yet."


End file.
